


Castiel is Real

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Complete, M/M, emotional mess (just like me)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean was pretty normal for a guy living in Kansas. He had some father issues, a kind mother, the best brother ever and a best friend. A best friend who also happened to be an angel. An angel that no one but Dean could see. And as you would expect, this raised all kinds of issues. Spending years lying, years falling in love and final years alone in a hospital, Dean learns just what it's like when an angel falls- and how humans can fall too.





	Castiel is Real

**Author's Note:**

> 'tis I, tumblr user goodbye-seeyouthen with another destiel fanfic! My tumblr is a mess of destiel, supernatural, aesthetics and weird things I find funny if you wanna check it out ;)  
> Enjoy!

When Dean first spoke to Castiel, he was seven years old. It was a stormy day, the kind of weather where thunder rumbles for hours and lightning strikes, but no real rain pours until it's late in the evening. Dean had went outside to play on his family's small driveway, his too big overalls hanging over his shoulder, a toothy grin on his face. He skipped out of their apartment carrying the pail of chalk, a thousand images of what he would draw floating around in his head. It was only days before that his father had left, so there was a big empty space on the pavement for him to draw on, where his dad's old car used to park. He plopped himself down onto the ground, carefully setting the pail beside him. There were so many things he could draw, like airplanes, and ballerinas, and his new little brother, Sammy. He wasn't really sure what the baby looked like yet, because his mommy just told them that she was going to have him. Dean wonders why his dad left right after his mom announced it.

But it's okay, because daddy would always come back, right?

The clouds over Dean's head were thick and rolling, but he ignored them, pinching a pink colored chalk stick between his fingers and beginning to drag it down the blacktop, creating swirls of what was going to be a ballerina's dress. Satisfied with what he had drawn so far, Dean dropped the pink chalk in the bucket and reached for an orange one instead. That's when he saw him.

A small boy wearing a blue shirt and black shorts, with stubby knees and rosy cheeks at the end of the driveway. He was staring intently at Dean through squinted eyes, but not in a rude way, just in more of a curious way. His hair was really messy, sticking up and down and all around. Dean giggled at him, because he looked so silly.

"Do you wanna come and color with me?" Dean asked, waving the boy over. The boy looked surprised, his eyes widening and his little hands flicking up to the hem of his shirt. "Don't be afraid, I like friends!"

The boy looked around and walked up the driveway, settling down next to Dean and frowning.

"What's your name?" Dean asked, grinning and waving a chalk covered hand.

"My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord." The boy's, Castiel's, voice was smooth as he spoke the words.

"An angel, huh?" Dean looked down and began drawing with the orange. "My mom says they watch me while I sleep but my daddy says they're not real and that my mommy is stupid sometimes."

"We are very real. I'm supposed to watch over you. You weren't supposed to see me." Castiel spread his hands on his lap, a gesture that seemed way to mature for the age that he looked like.

"Well, an angel? Let's just say friend for now, 'kay?" Dean smiled, his front left tooth missing in an endearingly adorable manner.

"I am an angel, Dean. But I guess I can be your friend too," Castiel said slowly, closing his hands.

"That sounds great!" Dean exclaimed. The front door opened and a blonde lady, Dean's mom, poked her head out.

"Dean, hun, the storm's supposed to get real bad soon, you might want to head inside," she called out, holding her rose pink robe against her stomach to keep it from opening in the wind.

"Okay mommy! Can my friend Castiel come too?" He said back, dropping all the chalk back into the tin pail and standing up. Castiel followed suit, brushing his shorts off.

Sean's mother looked confused, her head tilted to the side and her eyebrows brought together in a concerned frown. "Uh, sure, honey."

"Yay!" Dean shouted, waving at Castiel to follow him into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. "My room is just right here, up the stairs," Dean explained, pointing. "Would you like a juice box?"

"No thank you," Cas politely declined.

"That's okay, but I'm gonna drink one." Dean watched as his mother went to sit on the couch, holding her belly and closing her eyes. He ran to the fridge and pulled out an apple juice box, then hurried to the dining room table to sit and drink it. Castiel followed him.

"I just love apple juice, don't you?" Dean asked with a content sigh. Castiel looked down.

"I've never had any. I don't require food or drink. Or sleep for that matter."

"Right, because you're an angel." Dean saw his mom's head pop up, looking weirdly at Dean. He swung his legs back and forth under his chair, sipping from his drink every once in awhile, Castiel's eyes on him the whole time. Dean's mother stood up and walked over to the table, setting her hand down on the wooden surface and pulling her lips into a line.

"Dean sweetie, I think that your uh, friend should leave and we should talk." Her voice sounded strained, the one vein in her neck popping out. The vein only protruded like that when she was either angry or stressed.

"Why can't Castiel stay?" Dean questioned, tilting his head to the side. Why was his mom trying to make his friend- angel- go away?

"Because we need to talk, honey," his mom said softly, pushing back a strand of hair that fell from behind her ear. Castiel was stoic as the conversation went on, his whole body rigid and still.

"Okay, I guess." Dean turned to Castiel and said, "Goodbye Castiel, I'll see you later!"

"Goodbye Dean." The Castiel just disappeared, leaving Dean and his mother alone at the table. She readjusted the tie on her robe and sat down gently, grabbing her son's hands in the process.

"Before we start, love, I just want you to know that the only reason I'm telling you this is because your father doesn't like it." She inhaled deeply, rubbing her thumb over Dean's palm soothingly.

Dean wondered what his mom was talking about. What did his dad not like? Dean knew that his father didn't like when he whined, or was sad, or when he knocked over his drink like that one time. But how does that have anything to do with what's happening?

"The thing is," his mother continued, "kids are supposed to have imaginary friends. It's totally normal, and you're not wrong for having one. You're really not."

"What do you mean? I don't have imaginary friends." Dean thought of all his friends, like Jo, and Kevin, and Benny. Oh, and now there was Castiel, and even though Castiel just says he's his angel, Dean likes to think that they're friends too.

"I'm talking about your, uh, friend today. Castell or something." His mom looks extremely stressed, causing concern to rise in Dean.

"Castiel? Oh, he's not imaginary. He's a real, live angel! Isn't that cool?" Dean grinned.

His mother huffed, dropping his hands and rubbing her temples. "Whatever. Just don't... don't talk about him when your dad is around. He won't like it."

"Why not?" Dean asked. "Doesn't he want me to make friends?" When his mom stays silent, he raises another question. "Where is he?"

"He left for a little bit," his mother snapped quickly, squeezing her eyes shut. Dean thought back to a few days ago and the fight his parents had.

"Hey mom, why did daddy call you a slut? What is that?"

"Dean, don't." She stood up, walking away from the table as fast as she could. Dean watched as she went, still confused about the whole conversation.

He went to bed that night with Castiel by the side of his bed, watching blankly as Dean fell asleep.

-

 

Things began to go down hill when Dean turned 13. His dad was back home, and Sammy had just turned five. His mother, although constantly under pressure, had seemed to be doing better, getting along with his father and taking good care of Sam. Castiel was 13 now too, and Dean's closest friend. He traded in his blue shirt and black bottoms for a white shirt and blue coat, and his eyes were much more blue and his hair was much more wild. He became talkative too, and would laugh at jokes Dean made, and would touch Dean's wrist whenever John left to go to a bar. Dean was grateful for him, and even though his mom still gave him strange looks, he ignored them.

Castiel grew up with him, by his side all the time. In class, at home, at the park. Dean didn't really hang out with anyone but him, and he didn't want to ever change that. His teachers and other kids never really paid attention to the blue eyed boy, which was okay since Dean didn't really want them too.

Things went south one afternoon while Dean was working on his algebra homework, Castiel right next to him at the dining room table. He was upset that day because his crush, Cassie, starting dating another boy from school. Dean wasn't really sure why he liked her, because he hardly knew her, but he needed something to keep his mind off things. And those things were sitting right next to him, watching intently as he plugged in stupid formulas.

The thing was, Dean was starting to feel things. Not the "you're going through puberty this is normal" things, but the "oh shit I'm not like the others" thing. See, he would get this weird flutter in his chest when Castiel would appear in his room, and the unknown feeling would often cause him to lash out at the angel, and always made Dean feel guilty about it afterwards.

Castiel watched closely as Dean worked, tilting his head every once in awhile when he would come across a particularly complex problem.

"Dean," a gruff voice spoke from behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Homework," Dean replied, turning his head around to see his father in his work clothes, greasy and smelly from the garage.

"Huh," John huffed, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer, slamming the door shut. "Tell me, boy, it's the weekend. Got any friends coming over?"

Dean gulped. "Uh, no sir."

"Tell me you don't have any friends, boy." John's voice was rough and scratchy, probably from the pack of cigarettes Dean knew he had smoked that day.

"I have a few," Dean lied. "They're just busy."

"Huh," John repeated, popping open the beer and taking a long chug from the bottle. When he finished, he wiped his mouth and pointed at his son. "Got any girls you're peekin' at?"

"Not really," Dean mumbled, trying to focus on his work.

"Tell me you're not a fag, boy," John spat.

"I'm not, sir." Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't mention Castiel, because his father didn't see him. No one did, really. Dean just figured it was because Castiel was his angel, and only he could see him. His dad would flip if he found out, but at the same time, he would begin to get suspicious if Dean didn't have any friends.

"I have Cas," Dean spoke softly, half wishing his father couldn't hear him.

"That your girlfriend?"

"Um, no. Just my friend. And he's a boy," Dean said quickly. He crossed his fingers, glancing at Castiel who nodded and smiled, but it was strained. Like he didn't want Dean to talk about him, but was trying to be supportive anyway.

"What's he like?" John sounded way too intrigued, setting his beer down and sitting across from Dean.

"Um, he's real smart. He likes jokes and superheroes. He flies- I mean, he wants to. Like a superhero." Dean's words were rushed.

"Really now?" John laughed, his pungent beer scented breath hitting Dean, causing him to internally gag a little.

"Yes?" Dean said meekly.

"Because your mom has said differently. She's says that you got imaginary friends."

"I- I don't, sir," Dean stammered.

"You're a lying psycho, boy. And if you weren't my son, you'd be in a hospital righ' now."

"Why?" Dean spat back. "What did I do? I'm not sick."

His father slammed his large fist on the table. "Because you are sick! In the head, boy!"

"I'm not!" Dean cried, flinching. "He's real! You just can't see him, that's all!"

"Dean," Castiel said urgently.

"Not now Cas!" Dean yelled at him. The angel winced.

"Dean-" he tried again.

"Stop!" Dean screamed. "Just go away! Go away!"

Castiel closed his mouth and disappeared. Just like that.

"Oh, you're imagining again? Is your friend here?" Intense malice laced John's voice.

"He left," Dean said softly. "You don't have to worry anymore."

"I worry about the safety of my family. We ain't gonna live with some insane freak. I'm talkin' to your mother tonight. We're gonna make you well."

And then his father left.

-

Dean turned 17 when he saw Castiel again. Things had been going great since he left, Dean went to go see a counselor named Naomi Angelo, he made some friends, he had a girlfriend, his father was finally proud of him, and Sammy was doing better than ever. Thoughts of Castiel lingered in Dean's head the whole time he was gone. Thoughts of how he must've been an overgrown imaginary friend, and how he really was never real, it just felt that way. He had even started taking medicine, and that helped for years and the final decision to take him off of it began a few days ago.

Dean was sitting in his room with Lisa, the aforementioned girlfriend, showing her his music collection. He was just about to pull out a Metallica vinyl when he heard the familiar sound of air whipping through his ears.

"Dean," a familiar voice spoke, but his voice was deeper and scratchier. "We need to talk."

Dean dropped the vinyl on his bed and whisked his head around, his eyes widening when he saw a bedraggled and slightly older Castiel slouching near his doorway.

"Baby, are you okay?" Lisa asked, turning his chin towards her and kissing him lightly.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Just thought I heard something."

"Your parents are in the living room and Sam's with Kevin. What could it have been?" Lisa said soothingly, rubbing her thumb down Dean's jaw.

"Must've been the wind, I guess," Dean bluffed, checking one more time to see if he wasn't just being paranoid. But there Castiel was, a slightly angry face twisted into a sad frown, a backwards blue tie around his neck.

"I'm not just the wind Dean. And you know that." Castiel took a few steps forward. "We need to talk."

Dean held back a sob, torn between Lisa and talking to Cas again. He thought he wasn't real. Everyone told him he was just lonely and imagined him. But here he was, Castiel back in his room, and he wasn't even lonely now. He inhaled deeply and sighed, turning to Lisa and giving her a smile.

"Lis, I'm not feeling too well and it's getting kinda late. I think you should start heading home," Dean said gently.

"Are you okay?" She fussed, playing with his hair.

"I'm fine, I just need some rest."

"You were doing fine earlier," she protested.

"I know. But it just hit me and I need some time." He pressed a hand to her cheek. "Okay?"

"Alright," Lisa said reluctantly.

"Thank you," Dean kissed her cheek, standing up and walking to the door with her. She lingered in the doorway, inches away from Castiel, turning back with a concerned look on her face.

"Love you?"

"Love you too." Dean plastered on a fake smile. "Bye, Lis."

"Bye."

Dean closed the door behind her and rested his head on the back of it, closing his eyes and desperately wishing that when he opened them, the room would be empty. But things never really go well for Dean, do they?

"Dean, things have happened," Castiel finally spoke.

"I know they have." He blinked open his eyes and stared at Castiel, his heart beating quickly. "You're a figment of my imagination. I came up with you because I was lonely and had no one. I'm doing okay. I have people. So why the fuck are you here?"

Castiel flinched at his words but managed to reply. "You didn't imagine me. I'm real. The medicine that Naomi gave you, it wasn't actually medicine. It was a spell to keep me away."

"Naomi has helped me throughout these past few years. More than you did." Fury bubbled inside of Dean. "You left."

"You told me to," Castiel said simply. "And I couldn't come back because she gave you that god awful shit."

"And now that I'm off it?"

"I'm here." Castiel gestured to himself. "More or less."

"You're not- they told me that you're not real. I believed them."

Castiel walked forward and pressed himself to Dean, his blue eyes burning with anger and passion. "Then how am I here? How can you see me?"

"Stop," Dean whispered, their closeness sparking up what had faded a long time ago. "Cas..."

"How can you hear me?" Castiel growled into Dean's ear, grabbing it between his teeth and pulling.

"Cas..." Dean groaned. Not this again. Not after all these years. He has pushed down his blooming sexuality when Castiel was with him before, but now everything was coming back up like a bad lunch.

"How can you..." Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, tugging him closer, "feel me?"

"They lied," Dean said suddenly. "They lied."

"That's what they do," Castiel said, pulling away. "They lie and they make me go away and they tell you that you cannot love me."

"I don't..." Dean stopped. "I don't. It's been too long. Talk to me."

So Castiel did, telling him all about fights in heaven, and how the garrison was unhappy with him for interacting with Dean, so he ran away and waited for him to come back. And even though it took years, he did.

"I can't believe you're here again, Cas." Dean reached forward and grabbed his hand. "My angel."

Castiel blushed slightly and squeezed Dean's hand. They say there for a few minutes, idly talking of Dean's family (mostly Sammy), his friends and then it came to Lisa.

"Why her?" Castiel asked, his face stony.

"She's real good Cas, super smart and sweet."

"But you love me, right?"

"I... I do, I just love her too. I think." Dean paused and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to tell her now that you're back. I obviously can't tell her about you."

"Well of course. I'm your angel, only your angel and I solely manifest for you."

"No one else seemed to get that," Dean croaked, looking down at his lap.

"I'm here now, and that's what matters, right?"

Dean nodded. "Right."

"Now what are we going to do about Lisa?" Castiel clicked his tongue, waiting for a response.

"I'll break up with her. Cas, I love you and I have since I was 13, I just... I just didn't realize it."

"When are you going to break up with her?"

"Right now."

And he did.

And so they went on with life, Castiel plastered to Dean's side everywhere he went, except for counseling appointments. Dean lied through his teeth every time, never once mentioning that Castiel was back. And everything was okay.

Until it wasn't.

Dean moved out of the house and into a small condo with his friend/roommate Benny when he was 19. It was a crappy two bedroom, one bath with a leaky roof and broken floorboards, but it was theirs. Stress was lifted off Dean’s shoulders, no more hiding things from his father, no more lying to his mother. Just him, Benny, Castiel and college life. Normalcy was now something Dean could (albeit only somewhat) claim. He could keep Castiel a secret for the most part, a few times Benny walked in on him and Castiel talking, confused as to why Dean wasn’t speaking to anyone. Dean brushed it off, simply saying that he was practicing for a speech. 

Deep down, Dean knew he would have to tell someone eventually. But what he didn’t know, was that people were going to know soon ,and not in the way that he wanted them to. 

It was a Saturday, and Dean nor Benny had any classes. They were lounged out in the living room, Benny on his laptop and Dean watching Dr. Sexy on their small flat screen. Castiel blinked into sight, covered in blood and mud, panting hard and deep. 

“Cas!” Dean shouted, scrambling out of the armchair and running to his lover’s side, holding him up. Castiel’s face was pale, his lips turning blue and frosty. “What happened?”

“They got me, Dean,” Castiel gasped out. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god….Benny! Call 911!” Dean screamed, holding onto Castiel, gripping his shoulders tightly. Benny looked like he had seen a ghost, all color drained from his face. 

“Benny!” Dean shrieked, Castiel beginning to go limp in his arms. “He’s dying, please! I love him, call someone!” He was downright begging at this point. All rationalized thoughts left his mind, panic and fear replacing them. 

Benny finally snapped out of it, getting up and backing away slowly, pulling out his phone and flipping it open. He dialed three numbers in quick succession, holding the phone close to his mouth and covering the microphone. Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was too busy whispering words into Castiel’s ear, sobbing. 

“Brother, they’re coming,” Benny said, putting his phone into his pocket. 

“Oh thank god,” Dean groaned, sitting down and pulling Castiel into his lap. “He’s not waking up, Benny. He’s so pale… so pale…”

After a few minutes, sirens were wailing in front of their complex, and the door burst open. Dean stumbled to his feet, laying Castiel gently on the floor and running towards the EMTs frantically. 

“My boyfriend- he’s dying and there’s blood, and he’s not waking up and I’m scared, please-”

“This must be your friend?” An officer appeared from the doorway, his taser drawn. Dean recoiled in confusion. 

“Yes, sir.” Benny came up behind him. 

“Dean, we’re gonna have you come with us-”

“No!” Dean screamed, running towards his room but two officers were there too, blocking him. He fell to the ground and watched helplessly as Castiel drifted off into nowhere. Dean choked on tears, thrashing like a fish as the officers held him down and took him to their cars. He kicked, and whipped back and forth, punching and yelling the whole time. They strapped him down on a stretcher and heaved him into the back of an ambulance, injecting something into his arm that made him black out.

He didn’t wake up, or had any memory of waking up for three days. When he did come to, he was in a small white room that opened up to a thin gray hallway. Dean was wearing a thin white linen shirt and light blue pants. A small plastic paper wrapped around his wrist reading ‘Dean Winchester, 19, Psych Ward”

“Hello?” Dean grabbed the elbow of a young man in a white uniform. “Where am I?”

“The psych ward at St. Mary’s,” the man replied, a sad look in his eyes. 

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I need to go.” The man jogged away, leaving Dean alone in the hallway. He walked back to his room. 

“Castiel?” He shouted, sitting on his bed. “Castiel I need you! Cas!” No response. Then Dean remembered. How his angel was covered in blood, dirty and now, dead. His head dropped in defeat, sobs wracking his body. When he was finished crying, he noticed a clipboard hanging on the door. He reached for it, surprised to find his name at the top. 

‘Dean Winchester, 19.

Past hallucinations

Prescribed 

Physically psychotic attack 

Schizophrenic??? 

Castiel is his ‘angel’ who was dying at the time of the attack

Subject was violent when we transported him’

Dean couldn’t read any further. “This isn’t happening,” he muttered, hanging the clipboard up again and holding his stomach. “This isn’t happening! This isn’t fucking happening!” He let out a piercing scream, alerting doctors and nurses. They came rushing into the room, finding him yelling and crying on the floor, covered in his own vomit. 

 

Dean was 23 when he died. His body was thin from lack of nutrients. HIs hair was falling out. He would shake when he talked. Every move he made was frantic and fearful. He would babble about how in love he was. He would dance alone in his small room to phantom music. A few days before he died he began speaking of Castiel again. The doctors all looked at each other when he started talking. 

“He was the most beautiful man, you know?” Dean said suddenly at one of their sessions. “He had really, really blue eyes, and a stunning smile and this hair that would never stay down no matter how hard you tried. He had this voice, it was gorgeous. I really loved him. I loved him a lot. I still do. But he is dead. Like me.”

“You’re not dead, Dean,” his doctor said gently. “You’re going to get better.”

Dean laughed dryly. “There is no getting better for me doc. I’m already dead.”

Many of the patients claimed to have heard him come out into the hall and laugh. They said he yelled that he loved Castiel, and that he always would, and that he couldn’t wait to see him again. They watched him fall, chest heaving. One swore he spoke three last words before dying:

“Castiel. Is. Real.”

And somewhere, off in Chicago, a thin man with dull blue eyes that were once bright, and frail hair that used to stick up like crazy, fell to his knees alone in his home, his heartbeat slowing. His brother tells the police that he spoke six words before his lungs and heart quit:

“Dean is real.

 

I failed him.”


End file.
